


Good Clean Wholesome All-American Kink

by Amelia_Clark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Dom!Cas, M/M, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Sub!Dean, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, canon!verse, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's stronger than Cas now, and Cas kind of hates that. So Dean finds a way around it--he just needs to be tied up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Clean Wholesome All-American Kink

"I feel like a goddamn art project," grumbles Dean.

"You're very aesthetically pleasing like this, yes," says Cas. "Now hold still."

Dean shifts his head on the pillows beneath it and tries to relax. He's curled up naked on his knees and shoulders, hands cuffed together with clothesline and resting back between his feet; Cas is currently binding wrists to ankles via a complicated series of loops and knots, occasionally pulling away to consult a fetish site on his laptop for the next step. It's not an uncomfortable position for Dean, really, but it's awkward, and he's so _exposed_ with his ass jutting up into the air like this—and he can't see a damn thing that Cas is doing, and all his hunter instincts are yelling at him to struggle, to fight, to _get away._

Except it’s Cas, he tells himself, and that makes it OK. He’s safe here.

Also, this was sort of his idea.

*****

A few days ago, Dean was changing the channel from a _Simpsons_ rerun he'd seen several dozen times, and Cas—who was still catching up on the past 50 years of TV, and had a special fondness for cartoons—tried to grab the remote away from him. This led to an impromptu wrestling match, which led to Sam leaving the room _for the millionth time_ (he said huffily) to go watch the TV in his own room, because Dean and Cas wrestling always got sexy at some point, the presence of other people notwithstanding.

And Dean always won. On this particular occasion, he ended up straddling Cas on the floor next to the couch, with the ex-angel's wrists pinioned above his head—not an unusual position for them. But this time, when he bent down to kiss Cas, rolling his hips down with a smirk, Cas turned his head away and scowled.

"What?" asked Dean, releasing his grip as he sat up again. "What's the matter?"

"I hate being weak," said Cas.

That felt like a cue to dismount, so Dean did, reluctantly, and leaned back against the coffee table. "You're not _weak,_ Cas, come on," he said. "I've only got a couple inches on you, and you haven't exactly spent the last few years building upper body strength. You’ll catch up."

"You don't understand, Dean. I've always thought of _you_ as weak," Cas admitted. He was still lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "That you can overpower me now—it’s like being taken down by a child. An infant."

Dean swallowed an angry retort (he was getting better at this "relationship" thing) and said, "OK, I get it, I think. You miss being stronger than me?"

"I miss being strong. Not just for combat purposes, either, but—" he blushed, flicked his eyes towards Dean. "In bed. Sometimes I want to—to pick you up or hold you down, and it's frustrating that I can't."

The thought of Cas manhandling him around the mattress had Dean immediately, dizzyingly horny. "Shit, Cas, why didn't you say so before? You can hold me down any time."

"I don't want you to _pretend,_ Dean. I don't find pity arousing." Cas sighed. "I'll just have to get over it, I suppose."

Dean cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "there are ways around that. If you want to be, you know, in control." Cas didn't respond, so he had no choice but to say it out loud. "You could tie me up. If you wanted."

"Why would I want to do that?" said Cas with a frown.

"Oh, come off it, dude, I know you've seen a decent amount of porn by now, we share a computer. Bondage, Cas. It's a good clean wholesome all-American kink."

Cas propped himself up on his elbows and gave Dean an appraising look. "You've done this before? You like it, being restrained in that fashion?"

"I’ve done a little, I guess? I hooked up with a lady cop once who handcuffed me to the headboard. It was all right. But we could give it a try, sure—hell, maybe I'd be really into it with you. I’m into a lot of stuff with you I haven’t been before."

"So I would tie you up, so you couldn't move easily. And then I could just...have my way with you?" Cas's voice purred with lewd promise. 

Dean swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah, sounds like a plan."

*****

So that's how Dean ended up here—only himself to blame (OK, and also that thing where he desperately wants to make Cas happy). He assumed Cas would start them off easy, pull out some FBI ties or maybe those stupid fuzzy cuffs they sell at truck stops; instead, he somehow Googled his way into something called "shibari," another of Japan's gifts to perverts everywhere, which apparently requires a truly spectacular amount of time to do properly.

"Hey Cas, you almost done?" he says, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. Dean is many things, but patient is not one of them.

"I would like to secure your calves to your thighs, so your legs are entirely immobile. Would that be all right? It's a fairly simple procedure."

"Can I just promise not to move? I kinda want to get to the sex part of the kinky sex."

Cas brings one hand up to stroke the small of Dean's back. "If you move, there will be consequences," he says in his Angel of the Lord voice, low and dangerous and Dean's own personal auditory Viagra.

"Fuck, Cas, don't tempt me."

Cas curls himself over Dean—the sensation of hot bare skin sliding along his back comes as a surprise, because last he saw Cas was fully clothed. "I've always wanted to teach you discipline," purrs Cas into his ear, and nips at the lobe a little harder than usual. Dean squeaks, and tries unsuccessfully to cover with a manly guttural moan.

"That...might be a little much all at once?" he manages to say.

"You can give up control sometimes, Dean," Cas says, kissing the nape of his neck. "The world won't end if it's not on your shoulders."

“Not most of the time.”

"Please stop talking," says Cas, and presses his palm over Dean's mouth briefly. "Does anything feel too tight? Do I still have your consent for this?"

"I thought I wasn't supposed to talk."

"Don't be impertinent. Answer me." His hands slowly roam Dean's body—down his arms to his bound wrists, up over his stomach and chest.

Dean tests his bonds—they hold, but nothing's pinching or cutting off circulation. "I'm all right. You gonna fuck me or what?"

"Eventually," says Cas, and Dean's got no idea where he learned _that_ voice, but it's going straight to his cock. Normally he'd grab Cas at this point, roll on top of him and nibble that spot above his collarbone that produces the best helpless pleasured noises, but now he just has to clutch at empty air.

Cas leaves wet kisses along Dean's jaw, then along his spine, lavishing attention on the shallow dimples right above the swell of his ass. He gives it an affectionate squeeze before he slides his hands around to Dean's hips, trailing his tongue down his tailbone. Dean moans, thrusts backwards towards Cas’s waiting mouth, but the ropes pull him up short.

Cas stops, pulls back. “Tell me what you want, Dean.”

“What? You know what I want. You’re right there.”

“I want you to say it,” he growls. “If you want it, you should be able to say it.”

“Uh,” Dean stammers, glad they’re not making eye contact at least, “OK, Cas. I want you to lick me.”

Cas lifts up and licks his shoulder blade. “Like that?”

 _“No._ Come on, goddammit, you know what I mean.”

“Use your words, Dean.”

“Fine, OK,” grumbles Dean, his face coloring as he gets the words out: “Lick my ass, Cas, please?”

“Of course,” says Cas, and drags the flat of his tongue between Dean’s cheeks, flickering sharp at his hole. Dean lets out a shaky breath.

This has been the most surprising step in Dean Winchester’s Gay Sex Odyssey: that he really likes getting rimmed. (No, not that he really likes getting fucked—that revelation was imparted by Rhonda Hurley’s strap-on years ago.) The first time Cas had gone for it, he’d tensed up, expecting to be, well, _squicked_ —to borrow a word from Charlie, although she’d been referring to how the New 52 introduced Catwoman, and Dean had no problem with that.

But that talented tongue in his ass feels so damn good, just the right kind of wrong, and Cas, since he never had sex shame drilled into him for decades, is always down for it. “I like the noises you make,” he told Dean once. “I like how you open up for me.”

Dean’s making those noises now, high-pitched little pants and mewls, as Cas tongue-fucks him into oblivion, sending a bolt of electricity up Dean’s spine when he hums a bass note into him. “God, Cas, that’s so good, thank you,” he whimpers.

“Do you want more?” Cas asks, drawing his mouth away far enough that Dean can hear him.

“Yes, please, more, Cas. Put something up there, finger me open.” It’s easier to say it out loud now he’s done it—usually he only dirty-talks about what he wants to do, not what he wants to have done to him. But this is just as hot, maybe even hotter.

And then Cas swats his ass, the smack of it a shock to Dean’s senses. “Ow! Cas, I said that was too much, come on.”

Chastised, Cas rubs at the reddened flesh. “I’m sorry. But you don’t get to tell me what to do tonight. You have to ask.”

“OK, I can do that. Cas, will you please, for the love of God, finger my ass?”

“Mmm, yes, thank you for asking,” says Cas, and apparently he’s had the lube close by this whole time, because he’s sliding in a finger almost immediately, Dean’s licked-out hole offering little resistance.

“Oh _God,_ yeah,” murmurs Dean. He’s torn, half wishing his arms and legs were free, so he could turn over, tangle his hands in Cas’s hair, wrap his legs around him—but he’s half reveling in his own powerlessness, how his pleasure relies completely on Cas’s generosity. Christ, no one’s even touched his cock, but he's rock hard.

Cas takes his time, stroking another finger along his rim before slipping it in next to the first; he pumps them in and out slowly, pulls them wider, stabs his tongue between them while Dean writhes beneath him, fists desperately clenching at the sheets. When Cas crooks those fingers against his prostate, Dean goes boneless, sagging against the ropes and keening into the pillow.

“When you want more,” says Cas, voice like a country road, “I’m going to need you to beg.” 

Of _course_ Dean wants more, he wants _everything,_ and he somehow carves words out of his helpless pleading, _“Please, Cas. Please fuck me, please, please, I want it, I want you, fuckmefuckmefuckme, please.”_

“That’s perfect,” Cas says raggedly, and enters him, rocking gently forward and back until he’s buried deep. _“Dean,”_ he breathes.

“Mmmmrrmff,” answers Dean, or something close to it.

Cas pulls out halfway, sinks back in, and Dean can’t even feel the ropes anymore, just this, the way Cas fits into him like he was made for it, filling a void he didn’t even know was there. The ex-angel’s chest heaves against Dean’s back, his breath harsh and stuttering—Dean reaches out with his whole being, letting him in.

"Say my name," Cas hisses in his ear.

"Cas," Dean groans obediently.

"That's a nickname," says Cas, and bites at the back of his neck. "Say. My. Name."

"Castiel!" Dean shouts, and comes, spilling sticky warmth over his biceps.

Cas bites down again, harder, and fucking _holds on,_ like some kind of big cat; he starts thrusting faster, balls slapping against Dean’s body, hammering home until his own orgasm overwhelms him. He collapses on top of Dean, smushing him into the mattress.

“Can I tell you what to do now?” asks Dean after a minute. “Because now you definitely _are_ cutting off my circulation.”

Cas peels away, muttering an apology, and turns his attention to undoing the knots. Dean twists his hands out once the loops slacken, rubs at his wrists—they’re not red, but the braid of the rope has left a telltale impression. “OK, I hope that clears up by morning,” he says, flopping down onto his side as Cas frees his ankles.

“I think it will,” says Cas, coiling the rope neatly before stowing it in the nightstand. “I don’t know about your neck, though.”

“Ehn, Sam’s used to my having hickies by now,” Dean shrugs. “It’s not gonna traumatize him like obvious kinky sex marks in his own home.” He tugs on his boxers and heads to the bathroom.

When he’s back, he curls up under the sheets with Cas and finally kisses him on the lips, tracing his tongue over their contours and sighing. “You don’t just miss being stronger than me, huh? You miss ordering me around, and having the force to back it up.”

“Perhaps,” Cas admits. “Had I known all it took to compel you to obey was the promise of orgasm, I would have gone about things very differently.”

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. I'm not sure if this particular tie is technically shibari--the ropes aren't as pretty to look at--but it was found on a fetish Tumblr that included both Japanese & European rope bondage tutorials.
> 
> Also! [Jessi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessi/pseuds/Jessi) gave me the title. Thanks, sweet pea!


End file.
